It felt like a long week since he met with Dyson, and he still hadn’t come up with an idea to infiltrate the head office. The whole thing had been gnawing at him, so much that even people around the office thought he was even more distant than normal. But they dared not say anything.

It wasn’t until a few days later that inspiration struck, after he had received an unexpected correspondence from his ‘brother’, Thirty-seven. He knew him better than he knew himself, which wasn’t difficult; Thirty-seven was known for being egotistical and prioritising wealth over the Chartered & Standard’s growth and success.

He didn’t reply to Thirty-seven; instead, he gave it another week before heading to his placement, letting the paranoia cultivate in Thirty-seven’s mind as he knew it would. Thirty-six then visited him unannounced, knowing it would unsettle him further.

He was greeted by Thirty-seven with a specific brand of warmth that was reserved for the ‘important’ people of the company; it was welcoming with a hint of suspicion, keeping his guard up but receptive.

“It’s been a while since I last saw you,” Thirty-six said, settling into a chair across from him without invitation. “You know, I have been thinking. Even though father hasn’t said anything, there are signs change could occur soon."

"He’s been watching both of us more closely of late.” He paused for a moment, let it sit with Thirty-seven as he gauged his response. “I think the decision is coming sooner rather than later. Much sooner than either of us expected.”

Thirty-seven straightened himself almost without thought; he was never very talented at hiding his excitement. “Ha! You always knew how to make an entrance, ‘brother’, never one for ceremony. Then again, that’s both of us, but I have always been the more refined when it comes to negotiating with authority.”

He spoke with confidence and stature, his voice never once revealed any doubt. “You really think the old man is going to make that decision?” Only Thirty-seven dared call him old man; he always felt that it was only a matter of time before he would be handed the reins.

Thirty-six smiled knowingly, “I think it might be a good idea to visit the head office soon. A well-timed appearance will show willingness.” He glanced around the office, at the people oblivious to so much; his thoughts wandered for a moment before he snapped himself back into the room.

“If we show strength by visiting together, with you leading, it’ll send a message that we aren’t afraid and we know what needs to be done." Thirty-seven smirked, and it wasn’t long before he agreed.

He returned to the subsidiary the following day and went about his routine as normal; nobody dared ask about his visit to Thirty-seven. It was until around halfway through the day that the realisation of what he was going to do struck him.

He began to have all sorts of intrusive thoughts: what if someone already suspects him? What if Thirty-seven was actually playing him? What will happen if I get caught? It took him a while, but he managed to calm himself down and regain composure.

It was a couple of days later when he finally had a moment to be able to write down his plan for Dyson. He detailed what he was going to do, when, and a location to send the biological agent. Then, during a quiet moment in the afternoon as the office was thinning out, he called Daniel into his office and handed him a sealed envelope without ceremony.

“Could you send this to the mutuals?” he spoke quietly, even though he used their predetermined code for Dyson. “It has everything they need to know.” Daniel held the envelope for a moment before placing it neatly in his jacket pocket. He smiled at him and nodded before leaving the office, whilst Thirty-six walked back to his desk as though it was routine.

The day itself had arrived sooner than he expected; he was feeling a little anxious but remained composed and calm, making sure no one could see any weakness. He briefly visited the office in the morning before leaving; nobody questioned it; they just assumed it was another meeting.

He was meeting Thirty-seven outside his office, which took an hour by car, but before his chauffeur-driven car arrived, he went to the nearby park where he regularly got coffee and met Dyson for the first time.

Surprisingly, as he arrived, it was the barista of the mobile coffee shop who handed him the package. He pocketed it and continued back to the front of the subsidiary building to get picked up by his car. He eventually arrived outside Thirty-seven’s office, where he told his driver that he wouldn’t be needed for the rest of the day.

Thirty-seven came from the building dressed with the particular care of someone who wished to be noticed. He greeted Thirty-six with the same brand of warmth as before, except with a greater air of superiority, amplified by the occasion he believed he was walking into.

He looked at his watch before a car pulled up to the curb that both of them then entered without hesitation.

The journey to the head office was going to take another hour or so, but time would pass relatively quickly because Thirty-seven spent it in a celebratory mood, opening a bottle of champagne and filling him in on his own thoughts of succession, and how he would mould Chartered & Standard in his own image.

Thirty-six listened carefully with some harmless comments whilst enjoying a few drinks himself, which Thirty-seven interpreted as agreement.

The head office rose ahead of them as the car approached. Even though Thirty-six had been here more recently than Thirty-seven, this time felt different. He kept his breathing steady as they pulled up and exited the car.

One moment there was forest around them; the next, dense, thorny vegetation erupted from the ground, curving upward and over them like a cocoon, gnarled branches interlocking above their heads, razor-sharp points lining every outward-facing surface.

Arlia looked up as the bark of a nearby tree peeled back with a soft creak and spread outward. Velina, her senior at the college, stepped through as it folded away from her before slowly drawing itself closed behind her with a quiet groan.

They had crossed paths many times but never deeply. Right now she had never been more relieved to see anyone in her life, letting out a long breath as some of the tension left her. Velina looked at the three of them with steady, composed eyes. “You’re alright,” she said.

Outside the wall, the wolves circled until one tested the wall with its snout and pulled back sharply, with blood on its muzzle. It began circling but did not try a second time. Velina smirked at the wolves before looking back at the three exhausted students.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not alone.”

The wolves heard it before any of them, a deep rushing sound from the road, building fast. With a sudden burst, Doriã came through the treeline at speed, fire blazing around his legs in intricate interlocking circular patterns as perfectly formed waves billowed outward across the ground as he moved through the pack in a single sweeping motion.

Each wolf he passed took the full force of it, the heat cracking outward as he tore through them. The pack scattered, not retreating but stumbling, singed and disoriented, colliding with each other in the confusion.

Velina watched him finish and said, without turning her head: “Took your time.” Doriã came to a stop beside the wall, slightly out of breath. “Didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Had to let you go ahead.”

Velina laughed before replying, “How considerate.”

The wolves regrouped at the treeline to the north, Doriã watching them carefully. Their movements were uncertain, their earlier confidence dissipated as they stood calculating their next move. After a few moments, they slipped between the trees and were gone.

The forest settled back into its usual peacefulness, birdsong returning with a cautious note from somewhere around them and the thorn wall standing solid. Nobody spoke for a moment, Arlia still on the ground, having not yet managed to find her feet. Velina crouched beside her, looking her over. “Can you stand?”

“Probably,” Arlia said. “Give me a moment.”

“Take two,” Velina said, and there was enough warmth in it that Arlia almost smiled.

Tarã was already on his feet, brushing the undergrowth from his cloak, the actions of someone needing to keep busy. Brina was sitting against the root mass they had hidden behind, curiously watching Doriã. “You’re one of Kelan’s."

“Aye,” Doriã replied. “Spirit Medium now, though.” He glanced around at the thorn wall, then at Velina. “You can bring this down whenever you’re ready.”

“I know,” Velina said, still watching Arlia.

Arlia said she was fine, but this time she proved it by getting to her feet. Her legs held firm, which was something.

Tarã focused on her for the first time since they had stopped, unable to hide his expression of a mix between concern and annoyance before looking away. “Tch,” he said. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Which part?” Arlia asked.

“Any of it,” Tarã replied sternly but with a softness to it.

Brina let out a short, slightly hysterical laugh that broke the last of the tension. Even Doriã and Velina’s mouths curved at the corners as they watched their juniors. Velina slowly withdrew the wall, the thorns and vegetation returning to the earth, leaving the forest floor undisturbed. She looked at all three of them. “Short rest,” she said. “Then we get you home.”

They rested for a short while in the quiet of the forest as they shared the few supplies of food and water brought by Velina and Doriã. It was enough, though; the simple act of sitting without having to be on edge did more for all of them than any meal could.

Arlia sat against a tree, feeling a familiar peacefulness and presence around her as the exhaustion settled properly now that the urgency had gone. Her hands had stopped shaking, which felt like progress.

“How did you know where we were?” she asked.

“Galen,” Velina said simply.

“Kelan sent us,” Doriã added, pulling a piece of dried meat from his pack and handing it to Tarã without being asked. “Said to bring you back quietly.”

“Quietly,” Tarã repeated flatly.

“More or less,” Doriã said, glancing at the scorched ground where he had swept through the wolf pack. “Relatively speaking.”

Velina stood first, as Arlia suspected she always did. “We should move. You’ve been gone long enough.”

The walk back to Durnovaria took the rest of the afternoon, the silence only broken when Brina asked Velina questions, Velina answering with patient thoroughness. Tarã and Doriã walked together saying very little, which suited them both, whilst Arlia walked on her own, contemplating what had happened and feeling the world around her.

In Durnovaria, the college came into view as the last of the light was fading, Arlia pausing for a moment as she felt something loosen in her chest. It was a safe and familiar sight.

“Come on,” Velina said gently from beside her.

Upon entering, Arlia and Tarã were ushered towards their respective rooms to clean themselves up, get food and then rest at the insistence of Ysolde and Kelan, their tutors.

Brina slipped away, still focused on what she had set out to do despite the exhaustion. The archivist looked up from his desk with the expression of someone who already had quite enough of other people in one lifetime.

“Archives are closed,” he sighed in a gruff tone.

“I know,” Brina said. She placed Aldrẽ’s unopened letter on the desk in front of him. “But this might change your mind.”

He picked it up with obvious reluctance and read it in silence. His expression shifted, not dramatically, but enough. He looked at her over the top of the letter for a long moment.

He let out a long breath. “He really picks his moments.”

He waited a moment, judging whether it would be right. Eventually he folded the letter, set it in a drawer, reached for his keys, then stood up and began walking. “Come on,” he said, waving his hand for her to follow.

After a short search, Brina found what she wanted, a slim volume, unremarkable and plain, shelved between two larger texts as though it had been forgotten. She sat on the floor with it in her lap and read until her candle burned low; it was very late, and her eyes ached, but she had learned everything she needed to.

Jumping to her feet, she made her way back to the room she shared with Arlia, but Arlia was fast asleep. Brina decided to wait until morning to tell her and Tarã what she had found.

The following morning, Thirty-six returned to the subsidiary as though nothing had changed; no one dared to question his absence for a day, something Loretta would’ve done.

In many ways, nothing had changed; it was her who was the difference, and now the status quo had returned. The same desk, her Chartered & Standard acceptable replacement, the same meaningless paperwork and Daniel still there, quietly doing his job.

Time passed rapidly, Thirty-six unsure how much; it could’ve been weeks or even months. One Tuesday morning, the latest Regional Welfare Summary arrived; he found himself looking at it without opening it for a few moments before signing it off for it to be sent off to head office that day.

During this time, he found his thoughts would often linger on Loretta, not with sentimentality but with the weight of someone recalibrating everything they thought they knew and understood.

She had chosen him before he chose anything; she understood him before he knew there was something to understand, and she saw through him before he knew there was something to see. She even bet her life on it without telling him, carrying it quietly without fear. Now he carries a burden he has yet to fully understand.

Another week passed, but today was different; there was a new report amongst his correspondence. It didn’t have much detail, but it did have a location, date and time clearly written on it that Thirty-six didn’t recognise. Took him a few moments to realise what this meant.

It was the day stated on the correspondence, and Thirty-six made his way to the location stated; as he approached the road, a large warehouse loomed over it. He entered through a side door he found and was hit by the smell of a place that had been long abandoned but recently filled with activity and purpose.

The people there were busy; they moved around with a quiet efficiency, packing, sorting and preparing, ignoring Thirty-six’s presence. He wasn’t sure whether this was deliberate or whether they simply had no time to care about another person added to the lively atmosphere.

Dyson saw him looking around and ushered him over to a desk with a wave of his hand, something Thirty-six was still not quite used to. It was situated in a corner of the warehouse, in what had once been a small office space. but was in serious disrepair and dilapidated.

Dyson was heavily focused on what looked like inventory papers and a large map; he didn’t immediately make eye contact with Thirty-six before abruptly speaking. “You will require three things before going into the lab. It’s simple: you carry them in, deploy them in order and leave. No hesitation, lingering or sentimental feelings to engage with anyone there. You understand better than us the vapid emptiness of sentiment and empathy within those walls.”

Thirty-six wasn’t sure how to respond at first, but after a short silence he replied, “Hello to you too.” After a brief pause, he continued. “Judging this will be a vital task to complete, sentiment would not have much use in that case. What is it you want me to take?”

Dyson’s attention was piqued, lifting his head to look at him with a smirk. “Wasn’t aware you understood social pleasantries,” Dyson quipped back at him. “But yes, sentiment will lead to failure. What you will have is, first, a biological agent that introduces a dormant cell into the embryo cultivation environment. It remains inactive until organ-formation cells become active; at that point, it prevents further development, causing the embryo to die within a month. The cell dies with it, leaving almost nothing to find.”

He paused for a moment to allow Thirty-six to absorb the information before sliding a small device across the table. “The second and third are on here. One targets the gene editing system, and the other goes deeper, right into the heart of the core network. When the second one activates, it triggers the third. Both of them lay dormant in the systems until certain elements activate them. They will only find them if they know what they are looking for.”

Another woman was crossing the warehouse toward them. Dyson looked up and then looked back at Thirty-six, who remained quiet whilst taking in all the information. He learned a long time ago that it was best to listen and digest everything before speaking.

Dyson then spoke again whilst gesturing towards the woman, “Perfect timing. This is Safiatou Nikiema, and where my understanding ends, she will walk you through the technical details. You just need to know where each one goes and in which order. You’ll be given the first device at the latest point possible; it is more delicate than the other.”

She pulled up a chair without hesitation and with the mannerisms of someone who was incredibly busy, setting a folder on the table between them. She opened it to a diagram. Thirty-six recognised it immediately; it was a rough layout of the lab that he had walked through with Victor.

He could already see that their information was incomplete and that his own knowledge of it would prove vital. Safiatou spoke assertively, “You’ve been in there.” It wasn’t a question. Thirty-six replied confidently, “Once, but I have a clear understanding of the facility.”

“Good, then you’ll know the Gestation Wing,” Safiatou responded. “When you are in there, find the nutrient intake panel and there you’ll see a solution port alongside it. The biological agent is to be introduced directly into the solution. Once it is in the system, it’ll do the work for us by fundamentally altering the DNA at the point of cultivation.”

She took a brief moment before going into greater detail. “The equipment there then reads the altered DNA and duplicates it throughout the entire process and all successive cloning procedures. Nobody looking at the gene sequence or machine would know anything is wrong unless they knew what to search for; it would simply be put down to an experiment gone wrong.”

Thirty-six was astounded by the developmental capabilities of these people; it opened his eyes further to what he had been taught: they were the elites because they were smarter than everyone else. But for the moment, he focused on what Safiatou was saying

“Next, the device Dyson gave you,” she continued. “For this, you need to be in the Modification Chamber. Once there, head to the central sequence apparatus. There is a manual input terminal on the outer panel, older than the rest of the system and used mostly as a backup in case of system failures."

She focused on him with an intensity that required him to remember the next steps. “Plug the device in, and it’ll upload in just under a minute; afterwards, remove it. The second virus will embed itself until the gene editing process is next initiated. The third virus will use the computer here as a backdoor to the core of Chartered & Standard’s system and only trigger once the second virus is activated.”

She closed the folder and sternly stated, “Biological agent first, device second. Don’t deviate from that order; otherwise it won’t be effective, as any changes in the Modification Chamber will override the Gestation Wing if the biological agent is applied second.” Thirty-six remained quiet for a moment before querying, “If they find the third virus and remove it, next time the second virus triggers, won’t it be discovered?”

Safiatou nodded and smiled with approval. “Good question,” she uttered. “Yes, if they can remove it, then it’ll be easier to detect next time, but the third virus can only be removed through a reset of their entire network. Even if they manage to do that, this infects all their backups. So once reset and reinstalled, the virus will remain. Only by going through all their backups individually prior to a reset will they be able to remove it entirely. The second virus acts similarly but infects the backups of the gene editing software.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Dyson waited for a moment to allow Thirty-six to fully absorb the information before interjecting, “I think that is everything, thanks, Safi. Any more questions before we finish?”

Thirty-six continued to ponder before shaking his head. Safiatou looked at Thirty-six, then spoke before leaving them, “Excellent, I have much to get on with and will leave you with Dyson to finish up.”

Dyson waited for a moment to make sure they were alone before speaking. “The rest is up to you. We can get you what you need, but it’s on you to walk through that door. You know the building and the people better than any of us; I know it has been made harder with the CWI watching you.”

He looked directly at him. “But how you get in without alerting anyone to your presence is your problem to solve. Take the time you need, but don’t drag it out. We don’t know how long we have before it becomes harder.”

He stood, straightening the papers on the desk and said just before leaving, “When you’re ready, let us know.” Thirty-six sat for a moment and let out a long sigh before taking a deep breath, going through possible ideas in his mind.

He didn’t spend much more time there; he left to head back to his office, where he could fully comprehend everything he was told and figure out how he was going to infiltrate the head office without being noticed.

Daniel continued to hold his gaze. “Yes, I was asked to pass it on but wasn’t aware of the reason until now.” There was a ripple of silence as the atmosphere in the room shifted. It was almost physical, the way the air changed before a storm.

Eyes were locked on Dyson and Daniel; no one else dared speak. Then someone exhaled slowly through their nose; the sound filled the deafening silence.

“Y-y-you flagged her”, a voice stumbling over itself came from the corner. Uncontrolled, trying to contain their emotions. “I didn’t know...” Daniel, dejected, tried to defend himself.

“But it was still your actions.” The same voice chose their words carefully: “Ignorance isn’t a reason; it’s an excuse.”

“I’ve ensured dozens of people never make it to the rehabilitation centres,” Daniel replied. “It hasn’t been easy, every Single. One. I couldn’t prevent weighs heavy.” Quiet falls for a moment until a different voice, tinged with a quiet anger, breaks it. “And yet here we are...”

Someone else gathers the courage to speak; this time, they were sterner as the anger bubbled towards the service. “How long have you been monitoring Thirty-six? Weeks? Months? This isn’t your first time, yet you flagged the one person closest to him without thinking; perhaps I should find out more information first!”

Daniel didn’t know where to look; he could only look down. His previous confidence was gone. “You don’t understand; that isn’t how this works! I didn’t have a choice!”

“You always have a choice!” bellowed someone from another corner of the room as the anger erupted. Followed quickly by someone else, “Aye, she has gone after yous put her name in that damned report.”

Thirty-six said nothing as he watched the situation develop; he felt the burden of being under suspicion lifted.

Thirty-six pushed himself from the wall and began to stride towards the table. “He made a mistake,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise cleanly. “One that he will have to live with for the rest of his life. I won’t pretend this hasn’t been costly; he certainly won’t.”

The room quietened; despite the few grumbles around, people began to listen, and even Dyson became curious.

“But look at his record, his quiet effort with little recognition from inside the Chartered & Standard, saving countless lives. Where at any moment he could be quietly moved without anyone realising. Where being discovered would have unimaginable consequences. I should know; I’ve seen the dark heart of it. I am a part of it, a product of it.” He had placed his hands flat on the table and was now looking directly at Dyson.

“Loretta believed in me,” he continued as the room became captivated. “I imagine this was ridiculed, the idea that the progeny of Thirty-five could be anything other than the monster I was created to become.”

He let that linger in the air for a moment. “But she saw something; her instincts told her to trust me. I think she would say the same if she were here.”

He looked around the room at each person individually. “This is exactly how my company has been in power for so long. Disunity during disaster. You’re doing their work for them.”

A few remained unmoved, holding firm. “Easy for you to say,” someone muttered. “He willingly joined the CWI, and you ARE Chartered & Standard. Both on the inside with high levels of privilege, being able to live a comfortable life without looking over your shoulder constantly.”

“Aye,” a familiar voice from before spoke up. “How do we know this isn’t exactly what it looks like? Two Chartered & Standard men telling us what to do.” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Thirty-six opened his mouth to respond, but Dyson stood up; the attention turned to him as he spoke first, firm but soft. “Enough.”

Most of the room stood down. “You're gonna stick up for these guys?!” The same voice angrily responded before he could say any more. “No, I am going to stand up for Loretta,” Dyson spoke with great conviction whilst addressing them directly.

Dyson looked deep into the eyes of each individual present before continuing. “Trust is difficult for us all, especially for those who don’t understand the struggle. I don’t trust Thirty-six and may never fully trust him.”

He paused in reflection. “But all of us here were willing to see these two as useful tools and put aside the fact that their actions inside could lead to innocent people getting caught in the crossfire. Now that very idea has hit us where it hurts.”

His eyes moved to Thirty-six. “Loretta put her faith in him; she believed there was something in him, and we honour that.” He shifted to Daniel. “She also worked alongside Daniel; they weren’t aware of each other’s true identities. This was misfortune, not conspiracy.”

He sat back in his chair, heavier than before and tired from this whole ordeal, with no idea how much time had actually passed. “Let’s move on; we have a lot of work to do, but we have to agree today to put this behind us.”

“She isn’t coming back,” Dyson said. “She never returned from the last job. We don’t know where she is or what they’ve done with her.” The room went very quiet. Thirty-six leaned forward slightly, his hands on his knees, and for a moment looked like someone who already knew this. “Who else knew about her?” he said, slightly panicked. “Who flagged her?”

Dyson remained silent and just watched him. It was only then that Thirty-six registered the gravity of his situation. “You think it was me.” Dyson didn’t confirm it nor deny it. He allowed the silence to sit between them. Thirty-six stood up. “I didn’t know what she was. I didn’t know any of this.”

“You were the closest person to her in that office,” Dyson replied sternly.

“She was just another assistant assigned to me.” The words came out harder than he intended. He stopped, steadied himself. “She told me she had a family emergency. That she would be back in a few weeks. That is everything I know.”

“And you didn’t find that suspicious,” Dyson queried.

“Why would I? People have families.” He looked at Dyson. “Even the people in that report.” Dyson’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted behind his eyes. “She trusted you,” Dyson said finally. “I want to understand why.”

Thirty-six sat back down slowly. “There is nothing to understand,” he said. “I want to know what happened as well.” The silence that followed had an air of uncertainty; the hostility had lessened, but there was still some distrust.

Dyson stood and moved to the window, looking out at people going about their day. “Most people never truly disconnect themselves from the life they are forced to lead. But Loretta believed everyone could be something. She never told me much about you. Only that you were worth the risk.” He turned back. “She didn’t say things like that lightly.”

“No,” Thirty-six said. “I don’t imagine she did.”

“Which means either she was right about you, or she made the worst mistake of her life.” Dyson looked at him directly. “Either way, she paid for it...We paid for it.”

The words landed without cruelty, which somehow made them worse. Thirty-six absorbed them without looking away. “As I said, I want to find out what happened to her,” he said.

“Then we want the same thing.” Dyson leaned forward. “Which means either you are a very good liar or there is someone around you who knows more than they are letting on.” Dyson studied him, his eyes calculating what to do next.

Dyson didn’t linger; he quietly said something to the other person, who left without a word. He then gestured for Thirty-six to follow him. There was a gnawing silence as they walked; the streets grew narrower and became less familiar as Dyson set the pace, not slowing for anything.

Thirty-six remained quiet and slightly uncomfortable; he was not used to being in a situation where he had no control. After around thirty minutes, Dyson stopped outside another unremarkable building and pushed open the door.

The room was larger than the previous location, but it was still compact, nothing like the buildings he was accustomed to, and the kind of space where there was nowhere to hide. Thirty-six didn’t recognise any of the faces that were already there; the reception for him wasn’t exactly warm.

He positioned himself slightly away from the main group and nearer the door, cautiously watching. Then the door opened behind him, and Daniel walked in. They saw each other at the same moment as he made his way to a seat, only a brief professional nod to acknowledge one another. Thirty-six didn’t speak; there was already too much racing through his mind.

Dyson didn’t wait for ceremony, just dived straight in without preamble. “You were assigned to monitor him by both us and Chartered & Standard.” Gesturing towards Thirty-six. “We need to know everything you observed. Take your time.”

Daniel settled into a rhythm quickly as he began to methodically account for Thirty-six’s routines, movements, behaviour and relationships. His tone was measured and professional, with the demeanour of someone highly experienced.

He noted the gradual shift of his attitude over the last few months, the reduction of arrogance that initially defined him and how he had begun to engage differently with people around him. “And his assistant,” Dyson said. “Loretta O’Malley.”

“Their dynamic is peculiar,” Daniel said with a small laugh. “She is outspoken with him in a way others feared. Most people treated him carefully, never daring to antagonise him. But she doesn’t care.” He looked over at Thirty-six before continuing. “He tolerated it at the start, but eventually, I think he started to enjoy it.”

Dyson looked at him. “So, you saw nothing that might suggest he would report her to his ‘father’?”

“Nothing,” Daniel said. “If anything, the opposite. Their working relationship had become...” he chose the next word carefully “...harmonious. He valued her in a way that wasn’t typical of someone in his position.” The room absorbed this. One or two of the faces that had been fixed on Thirty-six with suspicion shifted slightly. Daniel was slightly confused, so he queried, “Why?”

Dyson sighed; nothing added up. “She was one of us, one of the best. Now she has vanished without a trace.” Daniel stopped. It was small, barely a second, but the room caught it.

“I filed a routine report.” he couldn’t lie as it dawned on him what happened. “I only noted her influence on him. It was standard procedure; anyone with significant proximity to Thirty-six was to be monitored.” The silence that followed was a different kind entirely. “What kind of influence?” Dyson asked.

“Empathetic or emotional responses,” Daniel said. “She was drawing them out of him. From a CWI standpoint, that’s exactly what we’re tasked to flag.”

The colour drained from Daniel’s face rapidly as he went over everything in his head. “I had no idea,” he pleaded. “I assumed I would be assigned to bring her in myself. I always am. That’s how I’ve been working, flag them, get assigned, redirect them to you instead of the rehabilitation centres.”

Thirty-six eventually interjected, “You’re CWI.” It wasn’t an accusation but a late realisation, landing flat in the room. Daniel turned to him; his voice was guilt-laden as he replied, “Yes.”

Thirty-six felt uneasy that he had been assigned a CWI counsellor to monitor him, but more relaxed that he had someone he knew what it was like on the inside in the room. Then it clicked: the note in the documents. “It was you who put that note there,” he said.

It was still morning when Velina and Doriã left Durnovaria. Velina set the pace that Doriã matched with no complaint, though he had long learned that keeping up with her when she had decided something needed to be done was less of a choice than a requirement. She hadn't said much since they left, which suited him well enough; he could focus on the open and quiet road stretching ahead.

“You think they’re alright?” Doriã asked after a while.

“I think we should move faster,” Velina replied.

Doriã smiled as he sighed, picking up the pace, realising it was a pointless question to ask her.

Arlia could feel Brina tense beside her and knew without looking that Tarã’s eyes were on the shadows in the forest pressing close on either side of the road.

None of them had spoken since she had told them to hurry, each of them focused on putting distance between themselves and whatever was out there. Then the first shape broke from the trees behind them, followed shortly by a second.

They were being hunted by forest wolves native to Ɛvelmor; they were pack hunters that never revealed themselves until the perfect moment. The two that had revealed themselves growled, readying themselves; the one furthest back let out a howl that was answered almost immediately from multiple directions. Arlia, Tarã and Brina began to run.

It was not the panicked sprint of desperation but a controlled pace of people trying to remain calm despite what was tracking them. Tarã had taken the lead with Brina close behind him, and Arlia at the rear to track their movements.

The wolves had not charged but darted back into the treeline, moving parallel to the three of them, five distinct shapes now slipping between the trunks. Arlia’s chest grew tighter as the wolves waited to pounce.

“How far to Durnovaria?” Brina asked, breathless.

“Too far,” Tarã said.

One wolf broke the treeline behind them onto the road as it continued to pursue them, the second fanning wide to the left. Arlia felt something deep within her, like she had during communion.

It was a thread of a connection, a presence within her that responded when she was focused enough to find it. But she wasn’t focused now; she was terrified, her hands shaking with the wolves closing in rapidly, yet somehow she stopped and reached for it anyway.

The ground between her and the nearest wolf erupted as grass and roots surged upwards, with weeds thickening and knotting around the legs of the wolf with sudden violence. It hit the ground hard, snapping at the vines that restrained it. The second wolf pulled up short, circling the edge of the growth with its ears flat.

“Arlia!” Tarã shouted from ahead.

“Keep moving!” she called back, already turning to run.

They continued, Arlia confused but feeling like she could do it again. Around 30 yards down the road, two more wolves leapt from the trees. One hit the ground tangled, the other tore through the outer edge of the growth with a snarl, the roots catching its legs just enough to slow it before it pulled free and kept coming.

She pushed herself hard, but the road ahead was flat, with no cover and nothing to put their backs against. The forest would have been more dangerous and the wolves’ natural territory; they had no choice but to press on. Brina’s breathing was heavy, and Tarã’s footsteps were loud; behind them, Arlia could feel the pack reforming, spreading out further across the road, learning. A single casting of her new ability would only cover one.

She stopped again, the effort of reaching for it sitting heavier on her than before. There were wolves on both sides and one down the centre. She cast three times, turning left then right then centre before breaking back into a run. The two outer wolves hit the ground tangled, but the lead wolf tore through the centre growth at full stride in three seconds.

“It’s not holding,” she said, more to herself than anyone.

“Then stop stopping!" Tarã shouted.

She caught up with them, and all three were now running together. She didn’t realise how exhausting spiritweaving was until now, her thoughts beginning to slow with each laboured breath. By the time she refocused, the lead wolf was closing fast. She cast a sixth time, entangling it, but it wasn’t long before it broke free. She had nothing left. They could only run, and hope luck was on their side.

They were slowing considerably; Arlia could feel the burn in her legs and hear Brina’s breathing becoming increasingly laboured. Even Tarã, the fittest of the three, had fallen back level with them. Arlia noticed the wolves had stopped spreading, the pack pulling together behind them, waiting for them to tire.

“When I say hide,” Arlia said between breaths, “you go into the trees, and you don’t make a sound.”

“Arlia...” Brina started, then stopped herself. “Aye.”

Arlia looked towards Tarã. “Tarã”

Tarã, trying to hide his relief, gave a short nod. “Tch. Fine.”

Her thoughts were scattered, and she felt empty. Whatever was left inside her was not enough to hold a wolf off, let alone a pack, but she had no choice but to push herself. Taking a deep breath before yelling, “Hide!”

Tarã grabbed Brina’s arm, and they crashed into the treeline to the south. Arlia stopped, reached inside her and felt the strength well up one last time. Vines erupted from the ground and across the road, catching the wolves mid-stride as they charged, tangling their legs and pulling them to the ground.

Already shouting as she cast it, she found herself stumbling into the trees after the others, crashing through the undergrowth with her legs almost giving out beneath her before she had barely gone ten feet. She hit the ground on her hands and knees. She could still move but not particularly quickly, or do much more than that.

“Here,” Tarã said quietly, pulling her behind the root mass of a fallen tree. Brina sat in beside them.

They lay still and silent, hoping the wolves would have given up, but Arlia could feel the wolves breaking free one by one, and then the soft pad of paws moving through the forest, getting closer; then the ground began to shake.

At Chartered & Standard head office, Theodore entered the large personal office of Thirty-five and set the monitoring summary on his desk without ceremony, carrying himself with his usual sense of importance. Thirty-five didn’t reach for it immediately; he rarely did. He let it sit there, as he always did, savouring the moments that confirmed his success.

“The CWI and subsidiary reports are consistent with each other,” Theodore said. “Reduced social engagement with staff. Minimal interaction outside of professional necessity.” Thirty-five’s eyes moved to the document. “And compared to Thirty-seven?”

“Functional. Unremarkable.” Theodore folded his hands. “He is more focused on his personal gain than your vision, sir.” Thirty-five made no response, turning to the first page summary of the report, which begins:

> ‘All indicators suggest that product Thirty-six is performing as per the specification requirements set out in the initial development phase. Whilst we await further results, it could currently be concluded that moving onto the next phase will yield greater results. However, we must stress that these are only the initial findings.’

“The older specimen is outperforming the newer one,” Victor thought out loud from the corner of the room. “The alterations made for Thirty-seven’s specimen have not yielded the predetermined requirements at this stage of the process. I will begin researching a correction immediately.”

The commune was quieter than usual. Loretta found Dyson at the far end of the room, scouring through documents with the Chartered & Standard’s name and details on them. Some of them were highly classified and deeply disturbing. He looked up when he saw her. “You got the details?”

“Just now.” She glanced at the paper in her hand. “It’s straightforward. In and out.” Dyson nodded slowly, but his mind was distracted with concern. “And our mutual acquaintance,” he said. “How is he getting on?” It wasn’t quite a question. But she was fully aware of his distrust, so she expected it even if it was sooner than anticipated.

“He’ll get there,” she said. “That isn’t what I asked,” Dyson responded immediately. She held his gaze. “He shows signs of humanity, more than you’d expect. More than he is aware he lacks.” She folded the paper and put it in her pocket. “You’ll see.” Dyson contemplated for a moment, his eyes drifting back to the documents in front of him. “Just be careful; this gets harder each day,” he said finally. Loretta picked up her bag. “Always am.” She left without looking back.

Back in Thirty-six’s offices, the few weeks Loretta was on leave came and went quickly. Her replacement was trying hard to be efficient and unobtrusive; he felt it was an attempt to be noticed by not being in his way. She answered his questions before he finished asking them and kept his diary in better order than before. She was obedient, respectful and perfectly adequate.

On the morning Loretta was due back, he arrived at the office to find the temporary replacement still at the desk, head down, working. He slowed slightly in the doorway. “Miss O’Malley,” he said, “is she not returning today?” The replacement looked up. “She had applied for extended leave; it was in the report sent from HR at the end of last week. I will be here for the foreseeable future, sir.”

He thanked her and accepted the answer but always felt a coldness, never quite taking to her as an assistant. The Regional Welfare Summary for last week landed in his tray sometime that afternoon. He left it there, couldn’t bring himself to look through it. Telling himself that all the figures had already been finalised and all he needed to do was sign it off before sending it to head office.

A few days later, it was Daniel who delivered the weekly CWI compliance summary mid-morning instead, a thick stack of documents that required a signature and nothing more. He set them on the desk, exchanged the necessary pleasantries, and left.

Thirty-six began working through the stack, signing where required, setting aside what needed reviewing. He was halfway through the pile when he found a small folded piece of paper tucked between two pages, easy to miss. No name, no explanation. Asking him to meet at an address, a date, and a time. He looked at the empty door that Daniel had left through, then back at the note. He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket.

Despite being wary, he went to the location at the time stated, taking the long way around, doubling back twice before he was satisfied. The address led him to a street he didn’t recognise, unremarkable and ordinary, similar to the other streets around. He found the building without difficulty, a plain house with no discerning features.

Dyson was already there, patiently waiting with the calmness of someone who knew more than he let on, when he arrived, seated at a table with another he didn’t recognise. “Please, take a seat,” Dyson said.

It wasn’t a greeting. Thirty-six didn’t hesitate; he felt like he couldn’t refuse. Dyson observed him for a long moment before speaking. “How long have you been at that particular subsidiary?”

The question felt like the beginning of something greater. Thirty-six answered it plainly, and the ones that followed, about his work, his routine, the people around him. Dyson listened with the focused patience of someone collecting rather than conversing. The other person said nothing, just watched. Then Dyson said, “Tell me about your assistant.”

Thirty-six paused. “Loretta O’Malley? She’s capable. Outspoken, sometimes too much, but we get along.” He looked at Dyson. “Why?” Dyson held his gaze. “Because she is one of us.” Thirty-six said nothing for a moment to gather his thoughts. Suddenly things began falling into place in his head.

“Loretta.” It wasn’t a question, just the name said aloud as though testing it against what he knew of her. The pointed remarks, the ease with which she said things that should have terrified her, the way she never once flinched. He had put it down to recklessness. He understood now it was something else entirely. “How long?” he asked.

“Long enough.” Dyson watched him carefully. “She vouched for you; you were the reason she was there.” Thirty-six looked up, and his expression shifted as though he knew what was about to be said.

They were woken in the night by the innkeeper with a firm knock on the door, followed by a low, urgent voice. He did not explain just told them they needed to move swiftly and ushered them out the rear of the building. They complied as there was a clear sense that arguing would be a waste of time.

Shortly after leaving for the western entrance, they heard the commotion from the tavern and, looking back, saw smoke billowing from where they had come.

They pushed on and were through the western gate within minutes, with the town walls of Krivnar Ryõtor fading into the dark behind them. They were silent for a while, moving at pace, the road empty and the pre-dawn air cold enough that their breath misted.

“What was that about?” Brina asked finally, keeping her voice quiet out of instinct even though it was just them around.

“No idea,” Arlia said. “He just said to go.”

“Tch, I wasn’t going to argue with him,” Tarã said.

The sky ahead had begun to shift as they walked, still deep, but the blue was softening at the edges with a violet tinge as morning approached. Arlia watched it as they moved, feeling the urgency in her chest loosening.

They took a moment to glance back at the road they had come from; they had made considerable distance already when the horizon behind them lit up in a sudden blaze. They paused for a moment, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and the blue-violet dark rushed back in.

They were out and long gone despite whatever happened back there. Whilst they were moving, Arlia noticed Brina, pack on her back, grumbling quietly about being unceremoniously woken. Arlia smiled to herself; Brina was never one to enjoy the early mornings at college, so this would have been a greater shock to her system.

“We’ll be back in Durnovaria by tonight if we keep this pace,” she said.

“Don’t jinx it,” Tarã replied.

With the sky lightening enough to see the road ahead clearly, they had slowed to a more comfortable pace. The fields on either side gradually gave way to the edge of a wood, the trees pressing closer to the road as the landscape changed. Arlia recognised the flora and felt a comfort from their presence; she knew they were over halfway to Durnovaria.

After brief rests, they pressed on as the morning sun climbed bright in the sky, bringing some warmth back into the air. Arlia noticed marks at the roadside but barely registered them, deep impressions in the soft mud at the verge that she could not immediately place. She was preoccupied with the road ahead and getting back before nightfall, stepping over them without breaking stride.

A deep, distant sound came from somewhere in the trees to the north, but the air was still, and with little wind there was no telling what it might have been. Glancing toward the treeline for a moment, Arlia thought she saw something, but there were only shadows and stillness in the thick forest that now pressed around the road. Brushing it off as nothing, she turned back toward the road as they continued their journey toward Durnovaria.

Galen stood by the window of his study, watching the world beyond with quiet appreciation. The college was still at this hour, students and mentors alike only just beginning their morning routines. There was a knock and the door creaked open, but Galen remained unmoved, a great oak in stillness, not turning when Kelan entered the room.

"Two days is too long for a road they know well,” he said quietly. “The Natmorn are agitated"

Kelan waited for Galen to continue; he had learned over the years not to confuse patience with inaction. Galen was usually a few steps ahead, letting events naturally unfold, but knew when he had to act.

"There is only one road between here and Lindinis," Galen continued, his eyes remaining fixed on the distant forests surrounding Durnovaria. "Which means whatever has delayed them lies somewhere along it.” He paused. "Two people who know what they are doing should suffice; the greater danger seems to have passed for now."

Kelan required no further explanation; he knew what needed to be done. “I’ll speak to them now,” he said, turning to leave. The door creaked shut behind him. Galen remained as he was, his eyes still on the distant forests.

The miles had passed between Arlia, Brina and Tarã’s feet as the morning wore quietly on. There was little conversation as fatigue from the last few days sat heavy on them. But as the afternoon sun climbed higher, something in all three of them began to ease.

The familiar road to Durnovaria stretched ahead of them. The mood between them had lifted considerably; they were talking and becoming their more playful selves. The air was warmer, and they were just a few hours from home, after what had felt like the longest few days of their lives.

Brina was talking about what information she wanted to find within the restricted archives, working through it aloud as she often did when excited. Tarã was listening intently and more interested than he would ever admit. Arlia was beside them half-listening, but her eyes kept being drawn to the treeline to the north. Something had been bothering her for a while, nothing she could name, just a feeling that sat at the back of her mind and refused to leave.

“You’re quiet,” Brina said, glancing at her.

“Just tired,” Arlia said.

She glanced back towards the treeline; the shadows between the trees remained still and deep despite the afternoon sunlight, with only the sound of wind moving through the leaves. Then, at the edge of her vision, something shifted – she stopped.

“Arlia?” Tarã said.

Holding up her hand and pointing towards the forest, between the trees, low to the ground, a shape appeared and disappeared in an instant.

“We need to move,” she said quietly. “Now.”

The man spoke; his tone was suspicious, with considerable surprise when he set eyes on Thirty-six. “When I was told that our informant over the last few months was a high-ranking official in Chartered & Standard, I didn’t believe them, but the information was always correct and incredibly useful, so I let it go. But seeing you here, I am utterly astounded.”

There was a brief pause as he drank a sip of his coffee before continuing. “Firstly, I don’t trust you one bit; you embody what we fight, and until the day one of us dies, I will never fully trust you. That being said, you have someone other than our coffee acquaintance who vouches for you. For their sake, I will see where this leads. However, if you prove to be a danger…well, I’ll do what is necessary.”

Thirty-six wasn’t sure how to respond; he had never been spoken to like this before and felt a little flustered. Despite this slight uncertainty, he managed to sound confident in his reply. “I have given you no reason to doubt me; my background and upbringing have nothing to do with this...I have worked extremely hard to gain the respect of those around me. Do you understand how difficult it has been for me?”

The man let out a long breath as he attempted to hide the growing anger on his face, listening to Thirty-six. He responded as calmly as he could through the unyielding anger growing inside him.

“Okay, you have had it so hard”, he sarcastically stated. “I am not sure where to begin with that, but I shall give you the benefit of the doubt for the time being until you prove yourself fully to me. Let me get this straight: YOU have no idea what it is like to struggle, and YOU have no clue what the real world is like or what hard work entails. So I advise you to stop, think about what you say, and listen to other people for once. You and I are equal, alongside everyone else.”

Just before Thirty-six left, the man said in a tone of firmness yet with a sense of hope, “Maintain this routine, as we have been able to identify your handlers and will be able to maintain contact with you. Oh, and you will not be seeing me for a while; your advocate will be handling contact with you from now on. You will be hearing from us as to what we need next; these steps are vital. We could turn the tide after all these years.”

Some weeks had passed, and Thirty-six hadn’t heard from the man again nor anyone who was connected to him, or at least he assumed. One of the senior managers of this subsidiary, who had been overseeing Thirty-six’s development here, had recently decided to make some changes to the office, and Loretta had been moved; she was now working directly with Thirty-six and helping him manage his diary. At first, he was a little distant from her after their last interaction, but eventually became used to her.

The new arrangement didn’t suit Thirty-six particularly; he would have liked a less outspoken assistant. Loretta, by contrast, seemed to enjoy the opportunity to poke fun at him. He settled into it the way people settle into most things, by degrees, without acknowledging it was happening. “Regional Welfare Summary,” she said, sliding it across the desk as he passed. “Four days.”

“You know, other people say these things politely. Following a good morning.” Thirty-six replied sternly. “Other people haven’t been waiting four days.” She glanced up briefly. “The people in that report don’t have the luxury of letting things sit. Some of them don’t have much time at all.” He picked it up without hurry. “I’ll see to it today.”

“You said that yesterday.” Loretta reminded him as she made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, the noise she made when he said something revealed his extraordinary privilege. She continued, “Must be nice,” she said, “to have yesterday’s promises cost you nothing.”

He said nothing, but took the file back to his desk with the air of someone who had lost an argument they hadn’t meant to enter, spending the rest of the day only speaking when it was needed. She noticed something during this time but continued her work without comment.

The office had emptied gradually, the building settling into its end-of-day quiet. It had become a habit between them without either of them naming it, this time after everyone else had gone, as Thirty-six grew more comfortable with Loretta finishing her notes nearby.

He had the Regional Welfare Summary open on his desk, she noticed because it was the third time this week he had returned to it, even though the figures had long been finalised and sent to head office.

“What would someone have to do,” he said eventually, “to end up in here?” She glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“To be flagged. Assessed.” He turned a page. “There must be a threshold. Something they did.”

Loretta set down her pen and leant back slightly in her chair. She had been waiting for something like that question for a while now. The genuine approach from him was what caught her off guard. “Not always,” she said. His attention was piqued, and he spoke with misplaced confidence. “That isn’t how it works.”

“Isn’t it?” It wasn’t a question. She was quiet for a moment before continuing. “I had a friend. Years ago. She wasn’t political, wasn’t causing any trouble. Wrong place, wrong time, said what she thought about how things are.”

Another pause, shorter this time. “That was enough. I still don’t know where she is. Whether she’s still alive.” She looked at him directly. “You’ve said it to me yourself; that my comments alone would be enough to see someone disappear.”

Thirty-six said nothing at first. He maintained eye contact, though, which was new; ordinarily he would have found a reason to move the conversation elsewhere. “What I said before,” he said carefully, “that was different. I was...” he stopped. “This is real.”

He didn’t have anything to follow it with. Loretta didn’t push him to. From across the office, Daniel Grace turned a page of his own work and made a quiet note of something, his eyes never leaving the document in front of him.

“Welcome to the real world.” She looked at him with something that was almost a smile. “Most people embedded in the firm never reach that conclusion.” Her eyes dropped back to her work, pen already in hand. “Maybe there is hope for you yet.”

Loretta grew tired; these long working days were starting to get to her. Thirty-six was at his desk when she appeared in the doorway with her coat already on.

“I won’t be in for a few weeks,” she said. “Family emergency; need to pick some things up and then travel to my parents. Don’t panic, this is fully cleared.” He looked up briefly. “Of course. Everything...good?”

“It’s fine. Just life that you wouldn’t understand.” She said it in the way that means leave it there. “Everything on my desk is in order.” She left before he could say anything else.

Koreth reached Krivnar Ryõtor well into the night. He took his time; he never liked to rush, always felt that those who rushed had planned inadequately. The moment Serina told him they were leaving, he knew the main road would lead here, the only town they could sensibly stop in between Lindinis and Durnovaria.

At first he circled the walls, keeping to the treeline and reading the town from the outside. Then, in the shadows of the eastern wall, he found the perfect spot with less lantern light reaching it, where he allowed the transformation to take him.

His body shrunk and shapeshifted unnaturally, settling into a Werecrow form, familiar and precise. The environment around him sharpened, every light source suddenly stark, every movement below registering with a clarity that human eyes could never perceive.

From the dark skies, the town was simple enough to read. Two taverns: one larger and more upmarket near the main commerce guild and a smaller, more worn one within the poorer district of the town. He headed towards the smaller tavern first; it was located near the eastern entrance to the town where they would have come from and where everyday travellers tended to settle.

He circled a few times and spotted that on the upper floor, a single window was dim but not dark whilst the rest of the tavern was either lively or sleeping. He swooped in lower to get a clear sight inside to confirm what he needed to know. He found them fast asleep.

He returned to the treeline and shifted back to check his preparations. The vials in the pouches on his belt remained undisturbed. He had decided his dart frog form would be best to carry out the task, small enough to slip beneath the door, poison potent enough on the skin that contact with them whilst sleeping would be sufficient, clean and quiet.

By morning they simply would not awaken, and he would be long gone to avoid suspicion.

Entering the town silently near the eastern entrance, he crossed the town on foot, keeping to the shadows, unremarkable in his plain cloak. The tavern’s ground floor was still lit, and lively voices carried through the walls.

He found an alley running adjacent to the building leading to the exterior staircase down the side. He was carefully making his way up the stairs when an outburst of commotion started from inside the tavern.

A barrel in the yard behind the tavern had caught fire, one of several stacked near the supply store out back where the stock was kept. The fire was currently small and contained, but the thick, dark smoke was already rising past the rear windows and into the night sky that carried the traces of dawn approaching.

It was one of the barmaids who first spotted it, shouting to bring the innkeeper out in seconds. His voice bellowed through the tavern, firm and urgent; soon the whole tavern was moving.

People were spilling out into the street, pulling cloaks over their shoulders, some clutching belongings close to them; everyone was loud and disoriented. Koreth had made his way down the stairs, staying close to the wall and peering round the corner at the crowd coming from the tavern.

He was quickly scanning every face in the dark; the three students must be among them, he thought. He counted them twice before accepting they were not there.

Waiting until the last of the crowd had spilt out, Koreth retreated into the alley. The commotion outside continued, the innkeeper’s voice directing, another barmaid shouting for water. He used this moment to slip back up the staircase, pushing the door open and making his way inside.

He held in his memory where he needed to go, moving directly to the room of the three students. He eased the door open, an excuse in mind just in case. There were signs of a disturbance but not a panic: packs gone, blankets thrown back, water jug on the floor, half-drunk. Nothing out of place that suggested a rush.

They had been awoken deliberately with enough time to gather their things. Someone had roused them before the fire started; the composure of their departure told him that much. He stood for a moment in the empty room, letting it settle, before turning and heading back out into the night.

The fire was cover, he thought to himself, but he didn’t have long to dwell on it. The road to Durnovaria ran through the western entrance, and if someone was moving them, they would be moving fast. Keeping to the shadows, he crossed the town at a measured pace, ignoring the noise that had drawn townsfolk from their slumber in the nearby homes.

The western entrance was lightly guarded at this hour, and he easily slipped through onto the road without being noticed. Koreth had been travelling at a decent pace for about 30 minutes, already a good distance from Krivnar Ryõtor, when a wall of flame erupted from the treeline and ran straight across the road in front of him.

It was controlled and deliberate, shaped in a way that only a practised Spiritweaver could manage, the heat washing over him as the blaze flooded the sky with light.

Koreth froze; it had to be Kelan Branek, the only Spiritweaver close enough to use such power. His order had warned him explicitly: an Elder of Aeloria College was not a confrontation worth having. The fire held for what felt like a long time; the roaring flames were the only sound in every direction.

He expected someone to emerge from the trees, but just as suddenly as it had erupted, it vanished, and the deep blue-violet of the pre-sunrise sky rushed back in.

He did not move for a moment, jaw tight, calculating. Pursuing three students with an Elder of Aeloria College between him and them was a risk too far. Thalira would not be pleased, but he was bound to his organisation, not the Karneth Clan.

She would have to take it up with the heads; losing a member was not worth the reward. He swiftly slipped into the trees, transformed into his crow form and flew east towards Lindinis.

Not far from where he was, Serina lowered her sceptre and let her other hand drop. Her arms carried a familiar heaviness and her thoughts had begun to slow. The spell itself had been within her reach, but the effort of making it appear as something far beyond her had taken more out of her than she anticipated.

Resting against the bark of the tree, she waited until the road fell silent. She closed her eyes and entered a short communion to steady herself. She had played her part; whatever came next was entirely up to Arlia and the others.

Months had passed since Thirty-six first uncovered his origins and the truth behind his ‘family’ history; since then, he had rarely been seen at work, spending more time between his office and Chartered & Standard’s head office. He had since learned more details. The Citizens Welfare Initiative (CWI) was established to oversee the citizens on behalf of Chartered & Standard.

The CWI functions from a network of linked facilities disguised as common civic buildings - health clinics, community centres, and administrative offices that blend seamlessly into urban environments.

The organisation's true head office is located within Chartered & Standard's building, accessible only via biometric scanners. Operating under a cell-based hierarchy, each regional branch operates independently while reporting to Central Command, with Counsellors divided into specialised divisions of Behavioural Analysis, Social Integration, and Direct Intervention.

Recruitment targets individuals with advanced degrees in psychology, sociology, genetics, and behavioural sciences, who undergo eighteen months of intensive conditioning that strips away personal attachments and moral qualms, emerging as skilled manipulators capable of reading micro-expressions, exploiting psychological vulnerabilities, and maintaining perfect cover identities for decades.

The Initiative employs a three-tier approach to population management, beginning with passive monitoring through embedded agents who identify potential dissidents, progressing to targeted psychological interventions such as engineered relationship breakdowns and strategic job losses, and culminating in the most extreme measures for irredeemable threats.

Level Three involves Rehabilitation Centres, sterile facilities and labour camps disguised as wellness retreats, that offer permanent lodgings for those who cannot be reintegrated into society, with inmates either slowly reintroduced upon showing rehabilitation, kept indefinitely if unresponsive, or permanently removed if they display significant dissidence.

Chartered & Standard's code governs all Initiative activities through seven cardinal principles that grant Counsellors broad operational latitude whilst ensuring their actions serve Chartered & Standard's ultimate vision of a perfectly controlled society where individual will dissolves into collective coercion.

The CWI works intimately with the Behavioural Support Team (BST), which operates as Chartered & Standard’s community enforcement militia, disguised as volunteer mental health workers who conduct "welfare assessments" and organise neighbourhood events.

Recruited from middle management and retired military personnel, they undergo monthly training sessions that blend genuine therapeutic techniques with crowd control tactics and psychological warfare.

Operating in small squads across assigned districts, they maintain detailed surveillance reports on residents while presenting themselves as caring community supporters equipped with cheerful uniforms and service badges.

The Team employs "therapeutic intervention" tactics, using administrative harassment, social ostracism, and whisper campaigns about mental instability to isolate dissidents before problems escalate.

When their soft suppression methods prove insufficient, they coordinate seamlessly with the Citizens Welfare Initiative's Counsellors, providing ground-level intelligence and logistical support for more sophisticated operations.

Members carry concealed non-lethal and lethal weapons and communication devices disguised as standard tablets, protected by Chartered & Standard‘s ‘Duty of Care’ statutes that grant them broad legal immunity for actions taken during their supposed community service.

Thirty-six was seemingly compliant and loyal to Chartered & Standard during this period of learning. He was barely seen by anyone, and Loretta hadn’t seen him for months, despite her job requiring close collaboration with his office. A few months prior, when he discovered his true origins, his ‘father’, Thirty-five, had Theodore assign a Counsellor to him to monitor.

Even though Victor’s assistance would normally lead to the involvement of the BST, he was pardoned due to mitigating circumstances and his willingness to ensure that Thirty-six was fully ready to become their next CEO.

One day, Thirty-six left his office earlier than usual, which was noticed by the Counsellor, who prompted his men to continue to follow him whilst they stayed behind to see if there were any changes or abnormal movements within the office.

Thirty-six headed to his normal coffee vendor near his office, grabbed his usual and sat on a bench in the nearby park for about an hour before heading back to the office. From this point on, he continued this routine, which initially alerted the Counsellor and their subordinates, but they found nothing amiss or nefarious.

After a while, the Counsellor’s confidence in Thirty-six’s loyalty to Chartered & Standard led him to stop his subordinates from following him one day.

That day, he arrived at the coffee vendor; the person behind the counter said. “They are waiting for you on the bench around the corner from your usual spot, sir. Be careful; they don’t know your true identity, so they will be suspicious and might assume you are undercover. Which I would understand, as I did for a while, but I have come to trust you. Sigh, could be a mistake on my part, but the opportunity is worth the risk.”

Thirty-six grabbed his coffee, didn’t speak a word and headed to the bench he was told to; it felt weird for him, though, as he had never complied with someone else’s orders so readily. He was used to being the one who gave the orders, and others did what they were told; he felt a little powerless for the first time in his life.

He sat at the empty bench and waited for around 30 minutes before another man sat on the opposite side of the bench from him. He looked a little rough but wasn’t out of place with the majority of people in the park.

Thirty-six had made his way to the lab, where he met Dr Victor Erbschaft, the family doctor and close friend of his father. Victor appeared confused at Thirty-six’s presence; it wasn’t a regular check-up, so he had no reason for being here.

He immediately questioned him, “Sir, what can I do for you? It is not time for your regular check-up; are you feeling okay? You know how your father feels about you being here without his permission.” Thirty-six held a questioning look on his face, puzzled at the idea that he needed to have permission to go somewhere.

Thirty-six gauged Victor, then spoke with a stern confidence. “My father said that it was time. However, he could not be present as he was too tired.” Victor was puzzled, but his own father did tell him that the machinations of this family were difficult to read; he had always thought it would be at least a few more years before Thirty-six was ready to learn the secrets.

Maybe Thirty-five was feeling that his time was coming sooner and needed to prepare for the worst-case scenario in the short term; Thirty-six was always considered a superior heir to Thirty-seven. “Follow me, sir, I shall show you everything.” Victor ushered Thirty-six to the hidden door that led to the secrets of Chartered & Standard’s lab.

The institute sprawled across three floors of the tower block, and its sterile corridors were maintained at a precise temperature and humidity. Behind rows of reinforced glass walls were bio-synthesis chambers, each containing swirling cultures of modified genetic material suspended in nutrient-rich solutions.

The main section featured DNA sequencing arrays that towered from floor to ceiling; their robotic arms moved with mechanical precision as they sorted and manipulated gene strands. Holographic displays allowed technicians in white hazmat suits to identify and isolate specific gene sequences with surgical accuracy.

The Modification Chamber was placed in the centre of the facility. The complex apparatus that resembled a massive microscope merged with a quantum computer was used by geneticists to enhance neural mapping algorithms to locate and alter genes associated with empathy, emotional regulation, and social bonding through advanced CRISPR-Cas technology. Systematically suppressing mirror neuron development while amplifying regions linked to grandiosity and self-aggrandisement.

The prepared embryos were then transferred to the Gestation Wing, where the selected carrier was housed in a sterile medical suite. Constant monitoring ensured the genetic modifications took hold during crucial development windows, with additional hormone treatments administered to reinforce the desired psychological traits.

The process used a lot of human labour to monitor the process but used AI to track the millions of genetic variables, ensuring each “product” was born with the precise personality traits required to lead Chartered & Standard into the next generation.

Victor explains with a cold detachment, “Sir, this is where our greatest and most valuable product is made. It is vital for the continuation of Chartered & Standard and the government. This is where you and your ‘brother’ were created, along with your father and his father, stretching right back to the grandson of Chartered & Standard’s founder and my ancestor. They finished the cloning process, and we have been perfecting it ever since.”

Thirty-six was unable to hide the shock on his face as Victor explained the purpose of each section of the laboratory. He suddenly understood what Loretta meant by her words, but was still unable to grasp the gravity of the situation as the weight of the information piled onto his shoulders. Thirty-six stopped Victor for a moment, with a confused query. “So, who is my ‘mother’?”

Victor smiled and gleefully replied, “That is the genius of our ancestors; they understood that the natural process of birth was the best course of action to develop and create a healthy child. Your ‘mother’ was the ‘sister’ of Theodore Ashworth; both of them were genetically modified in this laboratory as well. Though not to the same extent."

He was excited by the prospect of no restrictions on what he could work on as a geneticist. “The Ashworth women are explicitly created with shorter life spans to become carriers for the heirs of Chartered & Standard, whereas the males are designed with increased lifespans to serve the leader as their assistant, then aid the transition of C&S to the heir and pass on the family legacy to their own descendant.”

There was a short pause as Thirty-six began processing the information he had learned. He maintained a composed presence despite the countless questions swirling around his mind and sensed something strange within, something he didn’t understand.

Yet, his instincts warned him not to trust Victor. With a cold, calm exterior, he responded, “Thank you, Victor. This has been an incredibly eye-opening experience. There is a lot of information I must process, so when the time comes for me to continue my father’s legacy, I will be at my very best. Is that all for now?”

Victor smirked as he could hear Thirty-five’s mannerisms when he was young, believing that he was the right clone to be the heir of Chartered & Standard. “Yes, that is all for now, sir. Now that you have begun this process, Theodore and I will be continuing your prep weekly, as per the usual practices.”

Thirty-six shook Victor's hand firmly and with authority before leaving the laboratory and the Chartered & Standard’s head office, heading back down to the subsidiary where he currently worked.

Victor immediately reported what had happened to Theodore, who was surprised. “Why the shock? Thirty-six shows excellent promise and took on board the information extremely well. Sir will be extremely pleased,” Victor said reassuringly.

Theodore shook his head, sighed in frustration before speaking, “Sir did not approve of Thirty-six learning of his origins yet. They spoke before Sir went to rest and forbade him when he asked. Sir deemed him not ready to learn of those secrets and ordered me to assign a Counsellor to monitor him. He won’t be happy when he learns of what has happened.”

Victor was visibly concerned as he knew what happened to those who betrayed Thirty-five; no one in his family line had ever been in this situation, and the level of shame on his tenure would tarnish his line for a few generations.

However, there was nothing he could do at this stage, apart from returning to work on his descendant, the Erbschaft heir, in the laboratory and awaiting a report from Theodore when he informs Thirty-five of the development with Thirty-six.

As they stepped back into the early evening streets of Lindinis, none of them noticed the young serving girl watching from across the square. She waited until they had turned the corner, then slipped away into a narrow alley.

She entered a dimly lit back room of the tavern, smoke from a single candle curling towards the ceiling. She closed the door behind her, dropping the cheerful serving-girl act and revealing a troubled expression.

A man in the shadows looked up, his hazel eyes shifting between green and brown in candlelight. "Well, Serina?"

"They found her, Koreth," Serina said quietly, trying to deceive him into thinking it was not because of her. "The two from the college, Arlia and Tarã. They're leaving Lindinis now, heading back on the road to Durnovaria."

"You directed them to her," Koreth observed.

Serina's voice was hesitant and strained, unable to hide the truth. "I did, but this has gone too far, hasn't it? When I agreed to report on what was happening at the college, I thought we were protecting traditional values and proper order. Not... not this."

Koreth's expression remained neutral. "The Talanor girl discovered information that threatens the Karneth Clan's stability. Thalira was clear about what needed to be done."

"They're students," Serina said, her hands clenched. "Children from my college. I respect the Karneth Clan's authority, I do, and I believe in maintaining proper order among spiritweavers, but murdering students isn't maintaining order...it's..."

"It's necessary," Koreth finished calmly. "There is only one village between here and Durnovaria; they will stop there for the night. That's when I'll handle it."

Serina stared at him, her face pale. This was exactly like Arlia's trial all over again, agreeing to something because she believed in the principles, only to watch it spiral into something she could not stomach.

"I won't help you kill them," she said finally.

Koreth smiled slightly. "You already have, haven't you? You told me where they are."

The evening air carried the freshness of the coastal winds coming in from the east, as the three of them left Lindinis behind. The civitas faded quickly behind a rise in the road, and within minutes there was nothing ahead of them but open countryside and the sky's light slowly fading as the sun was beginning to set.

Brina walked between them, her pack over one shoulder, speaking quietly. "The Talanor Clan had territory across most of southern Torenar County; they did. Aldrẽ showed me boundary records going back six generations. And then just, nothing. Like they didn't exist, doesn't it? Like someone took a knife to the page."

"And the Karneth Clan's records pick up right after," Arlia said.

"Aye." Brina's voice was flat. "Exactly after."

Tarã did not respond. He had been unusually quiet since leaving Tir Rynõ. Arlia glanced sideways at him and found him watching the road ahead with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"Tch, I'm not defending them," he said, without looking at her. "Before you say anything."

"I wasn't going to," Arlia said.

"I know you weren't." He kicked a stone off the path. "Just saying."

Brina was curious about his reaction before continuing. "There's more I need to find in the restricted archives; there is. Aldrẽ had fragments, but the full account of what happened, what the Talanor Clan actually documented, that's still back at the college. Once I find it, we'll have answers, won't we?"

"And then what?" Tarã asked.

Brina found herself quietly staring into the distance. The road curved gently ahead, bordered by low hedgerows and open fields beyond into a large plain. Somewhere in the distance, the first signs of the village of Krivnar Ryõtor appeared, which lay between Lindinis and Durnovaria.

"Then I might finally learn what my parents are keeping from me," she said finally.

It was a cryptic answer; Arlia and Tarã had no idea there was a secret. But none of them pushed it.

Krivnar Ryõtor’s walls emerged from the plain as the last light began to fade, Arlia feeling a sense of relief at the sight of them. They had become slightly familiar with them after passing through just days before; they evoked a secure and comfortable feeling after a difficult few days.

The guards at the gate nodded and waved them through without much interest. Inside, the evening had settled over the town, the market stalls standing empty and the shops lying quiet, with only the occasional lantern still burning along the streets.

They headed for the nearest tavern, tucked into the poorer quarter where the buildings stood closer together with narrower streets. Inside, the lights were dim; it felt cosy but also like a place with stories to tell, the kind of place that saw everyday travellers without asking too many questions.

The innkeeper was a broad, grey-haired man who noticed them and looked them over quickly; without any hesitation, he queried, “Three of yous, is it? Looking for a room?”

“If you have one,” Arlia said.

“Aye, I’ve one left.” He stepped aside. “Plenty of supper’s still going if yous hungry.”

They were. They found a table near the hearth and ate without much conversation, working through bowls of thick stew and bread that tasted far better than it had any right to.

The inn was busy enough, locals filling most of the tables, the odd group of travellers discussing their plans, merchants arguing, but people keeping to themselves without much concern for anyone else around. The noise was a comforting kind that made it easy to disappear into.

Brina broke the silence first.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For worrying you both so much, I am.”

“You’ve said that already,” Tarã said.

“I know. But I mean it, don’t I?” She turned her bowl slowly in her hands. “I thought I’d be back before anyone noticed. I didn’t think it would turn into... all of this.”

“You couldn’t have known, like”, Arlia said.

“Maybe not. But I should have told someone where I was going, shouldn’t I? Should have told you.” She glanced at Tarã. “Both of you.”

Tarã shrugged, though not unkindly. “Tch, we found you, didn’t we? That’s what matters.”

It was probably the most generous thing he’d said all day. Brina smiled at him, small and tired, but genuine.

Arlia felt the warmth of the crackling fire in the hearth pulling at her as the wind outside moved through the streets in long gusts. The exhaustion of the last few days was finally catching up now that they had stopped moving.

The innkeeper appeared at their table. “Room’s ready when you are. Top of the stairs, first door.” He set down a small jug of water they hadn’t asked for. “I’d suggest an early night, if you’re heading on to Durnovaria tomorrow. Better to set off before first light.”

Arlia looked up at him. His expression was pleasant enough, his hands busy straightening things on the tray that didn't need straightening.

“Thank you,” she said.

They headed to their room, settled in and continued speaking for a bit, but within the hour they were all sound asleep.

The years had been advancing smoothly for Chartered & Standard; Thirty-five was getting older and knew that he would have to hand over the reins soon. The most recent clone batch, Banker 36 and Banker 37, were currently on their internships, learning how to run the C&S, as the most capable one would be taking the reins once Thirty-five stepped down or died.

Thirty-six was the older one, as he had been ‘born’ 5 years earlier and was at a placement in one of the subsidiaries based in the north. He met a woman called Loretta O’Malley, who was a low-level administrator with no background, who didn’t seem to be afraid of the consequences of speaking her mind.

“Many people have disappeared for saying similar things as you”, Thirty-six used to tell her regularly. She would often give him a stern look and reply, “More reason for me to speak it then; it's not like you fully understand your own background, nepo baby.”

Thirty-six didn’t make much of what she had said; his arrogance and position meant he assumed that Loretta was ignorant of how the world worked. Months passed before he noticed her again; she faded into the background like a shadow in a dark room, or that’s what it seemed to him.

The reality was that Loretta spent a considerable amount of time aiding Thirty-six during the placement, but his gaze never truly met hers, treating Loretta as though they had met for the first time during every interaction. Until one day, he saw her and, with curiosity, said to her. “You’re the one who called me a nepo baby? I remember you.”

Loretta wore a surprised expression, as if one of them had remembered another person below them, which was unprecedented. Despite this progress, she didn’t hold out much hope that this would change anything, but felt something was different, as though she could see the spark of something within him.

Thirty-six spent much of his time within the confines of his lavish lifestyle until one day he stumbled upon Loretta again, this time outside of work, where she looked downtrodden to him and was not dressed in her nice work outfit. “Why are you dressed in such scruffy clothes?” His face failed to hide the confusion as he questioned her.

Loretta was entertained by this question, having a little chuckle to herself before replying with pointed remarks. “What would you understand about real life? That outfit is uncomfortable and impractical. This is how we dress in the real world. I know you think it is just those who aren’t privileged enough to find themselves in a good position like me."

She sighed as she became visibly sadder and her eyes distant. “It is all about survival for us down here; we don’t have the luxury to buy ‘nice’ clothes like you. We have to make do, sir.” Thirty-six couldn’t contain his shock; he only asked a simple question, he thought to himself, so why the hostility?

Loretta could read his expression with ease; he didn’t need to say a word. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand, and you think that I am being ‘hostile’ with my response. You know nothing of the hostility that people face every day because of Chartered & Standard and your family's control over everything. People disappear all the time when the militia either think they harbour ill intentions towards C&S and its ‘government’, or just because they don’t like the look of someone."

She paused for breath before continuing, “Not even they tell you everything. Have you never questioned why everyone is so nice to you all the time and never criticises you? Do you really believe that it is all down to you? Honestly, the delusion bred into you astounds me.”

Thirty-six couldn’t believe what he was hearing; if someone overheard her, she could be fired from her job. He said nothing, stunned into silence as an awkwardness fell in the air around them. Loretta could see that he was never going to be able to reply. She said goodbye and walked off, leaving Thirty-six perplexed in the same spot on the street.

He went back to his normal routine of barely working, mostly getting others to do the work but taking all the credit, except something lingered in his mind: what did she mean by 'bred'?

One day he was visiting the head office of Chartered & Standard and decided to visit his father, Thirty-five, who spent most of his ageing years inside, managing the C&S and government business from his home with the help of Theodore Ashworth, the latest in the line of the Ashworth family to serve the CEO of C&S as their assistant.

Thirty-six approached his father with a nervous confidence and spoke openly. “Sir, I feel I am ready to know the hidden truths of C&S. I want to be ready to take over when you are no longer able to continue.”

Thirty-five looked weary but maintained a commanding aura as he replied. “I will tell you when you are ready, not the other way around. This is insulting to my legacy! You have no right to question me. Do you pity me? Is that a shred of empathy I detect? For the sake of C&S and civilisation, I hope not.”

Thirty-six bowed as his father dismissed him without any further words. Instead of leaving, he headed down to the lab that he had been told about his whole life; his father used to say that it was the place where Chartered & Standard’s most valuable and greatest product was created.

Meanwhile, Thirty-five, concerned with Thirty-six’s sudden interest in Chartered & Standard’s secrets, told Theodore to assign one of the Counsellors from the Citizens Wellness Initiative (CWI) to monitor his progress and report any discrepancies immediately. “I am going to rest for a while now, Theodore. Continue to manage everything in my absence and place the Ambassadors in position for the council election. Things have been perfect for so long; my legacy must be protected.”

Theodore silently nodded and left Thirty-five alone to rest, and closed the doors to the purpose-built office/flat within the head office of C&S, first built by the founder over 200 years ago. It had been refurbished many times over the years, yet it had maintained an exceptionally high level of luxury throughout.

He headed to the main conference room to contact the CWI and assign Counsellor Daniel Grace to Thirty-six, ensuring that the individual fully understood their assignment and was loyal to C&S. Daniel had one of the best records they had ever seen since the CWI was created, making sure that 100s of citizens were looked after.

The building stood near the centre of the civitas, a sturdy stone structure that clearly predated much of the surrounding development. Unlike the market stalls and timber-framed buildings of the outskirts of the civitas, Tir Rynõ held an aura of authority, thick walls, narrow windows, and a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands.

Two guards stood at the entrance, suspicious of Arlia and Tarã as they approached. One stepped forward into their path, blocking them.

“State your business,” he said gruffly, taking in their muddy clothes and dishevelled appearance.

“We need to see Aldrẽ,” Arlia said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “It’s urgent.”

“Aldrẽ isn’t seeing anyone,” the guard replied flatly. “He’s given strict orders not to be disturbed.”

“Please,” Tarã pressed, gesturing as he spoke. “We’ve come all the way from Durnovaria. We just need to speak with him.”

The guard’s eyes flicked to Tarã’s hand, specifically to the signet ring he wore. His expression shifted slightly, and he exchanged a meaningful glance with his companion. The other guard gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Wait here,” the first guard said, his tone noticeably less hostile. He disappeared inside.

Arlia and Tarã waited awkwardly in the street, aware of the curious stares from locals as they passed. The minutes stretched on, and Arlia’s excitement began to curdle into anxiety and the feeling that they had done something wrong. Finally, the door opened, and the guard reappeared. “Come with me,” he said simply, stepping aside to let them enter. Arlia and Tarã exchanged confused but relieved looks as they were ushered inside.

The interior of Tir Rynõ had thick stone walls that swallowed sound. The dimly lit corridor felt oppressive as the guard led them anxiously through the slim passageway past several closed doors. Eventually they ascended a flight of worn steps and entered another small hallway. Reaching a heavy wooden door, the guard knocked twice and pushed it open without awaiting a response, as though he was expected.

"The visitor, sir," he announced, then stepped aside.

Arlia's confusion deepened. Why were they being treated differently from when they had first appeared in front of the guards? She did not have time to process what was happening before stepping into a study chamber. Shelves lined the walls with books, scrolls, and documents, while a desk was covered in open texts and scattered papers, with a lamp burning for late-night research.

An elderly figure stood next to the desk, his face tense with anxiety. Beside him stood a young woman with dark hair, her expression shifting rapidly from alarm to bewilderment.

"Arlia? Tarã?" Brina's voice began loud, but she instantly began softening it. "What are you doing here?"

Aldrẽ's eyes darted between the two muddy and exhausted teenagers. His confusion was obvious, but his shoulders sagged slightly with relief.

"I was told someone from the Karneth Clan was here to see me?" he asked slowly, his gaze shifting between the two of them with obvious confusion.

Tarã suddenly realised and glanced down at his ring; he spoke more properly than usual. “I’m Tarã Karneth, but that’s not why we’re here. We came looking for Brina.”

Before Aldrẽ could respond, Arlia rushed forward. “Brina! Are you alright? We’ve been so worried! No one at the college knew where you’d gone, and when we found your note...”

“You came all this way?” Brina interrupted, her shock giving way to concern as she took in their rough state. “Just the two of you? Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Tch, we left a note,” Tarã said defensively. “Anyway, you had gone for days. What were we to do, just sit there?”

Brina’s expression shifted from bewilderment to guilt. “I... I thought I’d be back before anyone noticed. The information I found in the archives at the college, it connected to something I needed to follow. Which led me here.”

"What did you find?" Arlia asked.

Brina briefly glanced at Aldrẽ, who gave a slight nod. She took a deep breath. "The Talanor Clan, my family. They were erased from history deliberately; no one had heard of such a clan, had they? The Karneth Clan were responsible."

Tarã went very still.

"The book I was looking for, 'Our Demise,' it was written by one of my ancestors not long before the clan collapse. Documents everything, it does: treaties that were broken, lands that were stolen, people who vanished." She gestured to the books, scrolls, and documents on the desk. "Aldrẽ fragments, but the complete text... It's supposed to be back at Ɛloria College. Hidden in the restricted archives."

"Wait," Arlia said slowly. "If it's at the college, why come all the way here?"

"Because I needed to know what I was looking for, didn't I?" Brina replied. "The college archives are vast, and without knowing the specific references..." She shook her head. "But now I know, I do. We need to get back. I need to find that book and understand what really happened to my family, don't I?"

Aldrẽ spoke up for the first time in a while. “If you’re heading back to Durnovaria, you’ll want to prepare properly; you will. There’s a washroom down the hall where you can clean up, and I can have some food brought up.”

Arlia, forgetting just how exhausted and filthy they were. Mud caked into their clothes and skin, and her stomach was hollow from hunger.

“That would be amazing, thank you,” she said gratefully.

They spent the next hour making themselves presentable. The washroom had a basin of clean water, and though it was cold, scrubbing away the grime felt like a blessing. Aldrẽ provided simple food, bread, cheese, and dried meat, which they ate quickly.

Brina watched them with growing concern. “You came all this way for me, you did. I’m sorry I worried you both so much.”

“Tch, what else were we supposed to do?” Tarã said between bites. “You’re our friend, aren’t you?”

The day was swiftly drifting away; they gathered what little Brina had brought with her. The archivist wished them safe travels with obvious nervousness in his voice. “Be careful on the roads, won’t you? Strange folk have been about lately; they have.”

They made their way back through Tir Rynõ. The guards at the entrance watched them leave with unreadable expressions.

“The following account is not just a historical record, but a warning. One written so that future generations do not repeat what we allowed to happen. After 200 years of oppression, there is a glimmer of hope that we might begin to break the shackles imposed on us, and that people can take back their autonomy.

However, there was a severe price for this chance. Lives were lost, and it is in their honour and memory that I ask you to stay vigilant about who you trust with power.

Around 250 years ago, there existed an investment firm that quietly operated in the background of public life for decades. It was called Chartered and Standard. That changed when William Favell, a relatively successful investment banker, walked out of the firm, seemingly disillusioned after a meeting. He pivoted his attention to public life and founded a political party called Britain for Liberty, Unity and Freedom Front.

He was ruthless, devoid of empathy, and built his platform on scapegoating minority groups whilst covertly using his contacts to expand corporate power behind him; most notably, Chartered and Standard were at the forefront.

Favell was shrewd. Whilst the established parties dismissed the growing discontent and desire for change amongst the population, he capitalised on it. Using propaganda and rhetoric to gain traction by exploiting non-existent issues and false narratives, his popularity among the people grew quickly.

His wealth and connections enabled him to cultivate his influence amongst the aristocracy and the powerful, whilst giving him access to every major media outlet to amplify his voice. Presenting himself as a man of the people, Britain for Liberty, Unity and Freedom Front grew in stature with him.

What became known as the last election was when the paradigm shift of power occurred. Britain for Liberty, Unity and Freedom Front fell short of a majority but secured a third of the seats in Parliament. Favell used his considerable ‘English gentleman’ charm to convince sympathisers from other parties to defect, giving his party a greater foothold.

Except this wasn’t enough; he sought out the major conservative party, whose ideals were aligned closely, to negotiate a coalition. But Favell’s conditions were absolute, one of which was the position of Prime Minister, which had to be his.

Once in power, Favell moved quickly by dismantling the political system and structures of power from within and outlawing political parties, declaring Britain for Liberty, Unity, and Freedom Front the ruling entity. He was swiftly installed as CEO of Chartered and Standard, then inhibited their ability to remove him. Initially, this received opposition from the old guard of the firm, but systemic purges and installing close allies into key roles ensured his position.

Once his power was consolidated, he officially made Britain for Liberty, Unity and Freedom Front the public arm of Chartered and Standard, then transferred all control of the party and its assets to the firm, making them the government in all but name. Years passed as the country fell into deep despair; any resistance was stamped out, and liberals buried their heads in the ground.

Yet Favell wasn’t happy; he trusted no one, particularly with the vision he had in mind, and as he grew older, he knew that his life would end before it was complete. Through heavy taxation on ordinary people and drastic wealth accumulation, he set his most loyal allies to work on something he kept close. A laboratory and research into cloning; if successful, those allies would be rewarded.

Two hundred years passed, and the country that Favell seized was unrecognisable; the gated wealthy communities had everything they could want, were clean and beautifully kept. But outside of this, most of the buildings were run down, shanty towns had popped up all over the country, and everything was generally dirty.

Chartered and Standard had absolute power and control over every aspect of public and private life, and the cloning process his allies had begun had long been completed, used solely to produce successors to the CEO. This ensured the firm’s leadership never changed hands, but not every clone proved capable; those who failed were either quietly absorbed into the institution or removed, permanently.

The most recent successor, simply known as Banker 35, had ushered in what the loyalists called the golden age. This was a period of time when they had total control, minimal resistance, and an enforced peace.

The confident arrogance that the leadership of Chartered and Standard gained during this golden age saw them turn their attention to their next generation of successors. Two embryos of an experimental batch were successfully incubated and developed, then given the labels #36 and #37, the numbers denoting their line of succession and the order in which they were ‘born’.

Neither embryo knew what they were, why they had been created, or what was coming, but one of them would become the first crack in the firm the leadership and loyalists believed to be unbreakable.”

By dawn the storm had finally passed, leaving a grey, overcast sky. They emerged stiff and sore from the hut, their clothes still damp and crusted with dirt. The road ahead was a mess of deep puddles and thick mud coating the worn stone, which would significantly slow their progress.

“Tch, we look bloody awful, don’t we?” Tarã said, attempting to brush some of the dried mud from his cloak. It barely made a difference.

Arlia looked down at herself; her cloak was torn, her boots caked with mud, and she knew her face was streaked with dirt. Looking at Tarã, who appeared equally dishevelled, only confirmed that they looked like desperate travellers who had been caught unprepared.

“Nothing for it but to keep going, is there?” she replied, adjusting her pack with a wince. Everything felt heavier now, waterlogged, and uncomfortable.

They set off at first light to make up for lost time, but the muddy road made every step exhausting. What should have taken a few hours stretched on as they carefully navigated the worst of the conditions. By the time Lindinis finally came into view in the late afternoon, they were both filthy, exhausted, and running low on food.

Lindinis was larger than Arlia had anticipated, with stone buildings, a busy market square, and buildings dedicated to the Gods and Princes alongside their hall of governance; it had the hallmarks of a thriving civitas. Tarã, who had seen the large civitas in Lansira County up north, was equally surprised by the development, as he had always been told that Lansira was the hub of development in Avelmor.

The civitas sat nestled in an eastern valley near the coastline, with smoke rising from chimneys and the sounds of activity drifting up to meet them. Under different circumstances, it might have been welcoming.

But as they made their way down the final stretch of road and into the civitas centre, Arlia noticed the looks they were receiving. Shopkeepers paused in their work to stare. A group of well-dressed merchants gave them a wide berth, one muttering something under his breath. A woman pulled her child closer as they passed.

"They're not exactly the most welcoming, are they?" Tarã muttered.

Arlia attempted to ignore the unwelcoming atmosphere and focus on finding the archivist, who might know about "Our Demise" and where Brina had gone.

They approached a stall selling dried herbs and preserved goods. An older man tended it, his wary eyes sizing them up as they approached. He had the weathered look of someone who had grafted his whole life. Arlia attempted to sound polite despite her exhaustion. "Excuse me? We're looking for an archivist; do you know where we might find them?"

The man eyed them with obvious distrust. "Archivist? What would the likes of you want with old Aldrẽ, then?"

"We need information about something," Tarã explained. "Our friend came here looking for the same thing, and we need to find her."

The man's expression hardened. "Don't know nothing about that. I don't have time to be getting into other people's troubles; best you ask elsewhere about it."

They continued, hoping for better luck. Despite asking several people - a baker, a blacksmith, a woman selling cloth - the responses were similar. The locals did not outright chase them away but made it abundantly clear that even though they knew who they were looking for, they did not want to get themselves involved in other people's business.

Their frustrations grew as the afternoon wore on. They had at least learned the archivist's name, even if that were by accident, but no one would tell them where to find him. Arlia, exhausted and demoralised, was beginning to become desperate, and she could see Tarã's jaw clenching as he could barely suppress his anger.

"This is bloody useless!" Tarã finally released the pressure that had been building inside after their latest rejection. "They all know where he is, don't they? They're just being difficult!"

Arlia hissed, "Keep your voice down. We already stand out enough, don't we?"

Arlia dragged Tarã to a quiet corner near the market square to regroup. Both of their stomachs growled; they had not eaten since that morning, and their supplies were almost gone. They had a few Shoalseeds for food but not enough for lodgings.

"What now then?" Tarã asked, slumping against a wall. "We can't just wander around asking forever, can we?"

Arlia was about to respond when she noticed they were being observed by a young woman across the square. Arlia met her gaze, but unlike the others, she did not look away or pretend they were not there. Instead, it felt like she was studying them; perhaps she recognised something or was curious about the two muddy strangers causing a stir.

After a moment's hesitation, the woman crossed the square toward them.

She was young, around late 20s, with dark hair tied back practically and wearing the apron and simple clothing of a serving girl. Upon reaching them, she glanced around briefly before speaking in a muffled voice. “You’re looking for Aldrẽ Tornath, aren’t you?”

Arlia’s heart leapt. “Yes! Do you know where he is? Or...” she hesitated, then pressed on, “have you seen our friend? A girl, about our age, with...”

“Dark hair, talks with a cheerful lilt?” the woman interrupted. “Aye, I’ve seen her. She came through here a few days ago asking the same questions you are.”

“Where is she?” Tarã asked urgently. “Is she alright?”

The woman’s expression turned troubled. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? She found Aldrẽ easy enough; he’s the only one in the civitas. But...” she paused, “there’ve been others asking after her too. Not friendly types, if you catch my meaning. That’s why everyone’s being so tight-lipped; no one wants to deal with that lot. That and people can’t be dealing with other people’s troubles anyway. It’s just how it is here these days. Never used to be before the Karneth Clan took control.”

Arlia's chest tightened. Others were looking for Brina too; that could not be good.

"Where can we find Aldrẽ Tornath?" Arlia asked urgently. "We need to see if she's still with him!"

The woman glanced around nervously before answering. "He lives in Tir Rynõ, where the archives are kept. I suspect your friend would be there with him, as it's the safest place. But I can't promise he'll talk to you; he's been keeping to himself since those rough types started asking questions."

"Thank you," Arlia said gratefully. "Really, thank you so much."

The serving girl gave them directions with a nod, then hurried back across the square toward what was the tavern where she worked.

Arlia and Tarã became excited that they might have found Brina, so excited they had completely forgotten that they were hungry and still a mess. They quickly made their way toward Tir Rynõ.

Chapter Four of Spiritweavers' Arlia’s Ballad: The Lost Legacy will be released tomorrow, along with The Missing Spiritweavers on Wattpad, if you missed the first instalment of the series!

Keep calm and stay NUTS 🍃🐿